


Don't Hold Your Breath

by sickly _sweet (sketchy_and_unformed)



Category: CKY (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unhappy Ending, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-26
Updated: 2005-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchy_and_unformed/pseuds/sickly%20_sweet
Summary: Jess has noticed that things haven't been right between him and Deron for a long time. Trying to fix this, he gets more than he bargained for.Livejournal repost.
Relationships: Deron Miller/Jess Magera
Collections: Livejournal reposts: CKY/HIM





	Don't Hold Your Breath

I watch Deron as he crosses back and forth across the studio floor lighting candles and incense, glancing at me every now and then with an expression of annoyance, probably wondering why I’m still here. The drum tracks got laid down two weeks ago but I’m still hanging around the studio, trying to spend some time with Deron. Only apparently he doesn’t want to.  
  
“Why don’t you call it a night? This could take a while and you’ll only get bored.”  
  
I smile and relax further into my chair. “I don’t mind. Got nothing better to do.”  
  
In the half-light he stares straight at me for a full five seconds while I occupy myself finishing off my second bottle of Budweiser. As always his eyes give nothing away because he doesn’t want them to. So I keep my mouth shut but make it clear by my body language that I’m not planning on going anywhere tonight. Over by the sound board Chad lights up yet another cigarette and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated by something but I wouldn’t know what. Lately it feels like this whole band runs on frustration, and that can’t be healthy. I don’t know why it happened but I just want to fix it.  
  
“Ready?” Chad asks and Deron nods, quickly stepping through into the Plexiglas-fronted room to lay down his vocal tracks. I watch Chad fiddle with levels and switches until Deron signals that he’s ready and he hits record and playback, causing the by-now-familiar riff to ‘Tripled Manic State’ to be heard. I watch Deron’s face as he starts to sing, and I can tell that he’s not happy with his vocals by the way his eyebrows scrunch downwards. After two lines he breaks off and signals to Chad again. The riff continues to play, looped over and over hypnotically. I bounce my legs rhythmically, still watching Deron and inhaling the scent of morning star incense.  
  
After a couple of false starts Deron’s voice warms up and he starts laying down vocals that he seems happy with, at least for the time being. His eyes close as he concentrates on remembering the lyrics and ensuring that the melody is flawless.  
  
There’s a point where his eyes open and lock straight onto mine, impossibly bright even in the gloom, and three seconds later he delivers the most brutal scream that I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Even Chad looks taken aback by it, wincing and temporarily removing his headphones. I jump in shock, feeling my heart thud against my rib cage as I do.  
  
A minute later Chad flicks the switch that cuts out the playback and there is silence once again. Deron spends a few moments pacing in the small room and to me it looks like he’s taking time to compose himself. Shortly he pops his head around the door and looks at Chad expectantly.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Yeah. We got it, dude.”  
  
Deron nods and steps back into the studio space, glancing at me briefly before walking straight over to Chad. They start to discuss the production of that particular song and I feel my senses begin to dull, the reality of the fact that it’s closing on three in the morning finally sinking in. But for some reason I still don’t want to leave. I feel like I need to set something straight with Deron because something’s definitely off.  
  
But then everything seems to be wrapped up and I don’t get the chance. Deron and Chad waste no time in leaving the studio and I don’t have any choice but to follow.  
  
⋄✧⋄  
  
I had to be the most surprised when Deron had first moved out to LA.  
  
“LA? But…you fucking hate that place.”  
  
He’d shrugged, tuning up his guitar before a show.  
  
“I guess it kinda grows on you.”  
  
“You really think you’ll be happy there?”  
  
“I don’t think, I know,” he’d replied. In retrospect his tone had sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as me. “And Chad is already there, so for recording it should be easier.”  
  
“But I’ll still be in PA.”  
  
Our eyes met briefly before he had looked away again, practically breathing out subtext. _Yes, but we only need you for the drum tracks. Yes, but you don’t understand the production stuff we do._ Etcetera, etcetera. It hurt.  
  
“What about when we’re not recording?”  
  
Deron had shrugged again, getting visibly more tense and irritable.  
  
“I just feel like living in LA, alright? Is it that big of a deal?”  
  
“I guess not, if you say so,” I’d replied slightly bitterly.  
  
Deron had sighed and muttered “Let’s just do this,” and the subject had been dropped. Even now, so much time later, I still don’t get it. But I think I’m starting to.  
  
⋄✧⋄  
  
“It was insane. I mean, I’ve practically worshipped her because of ‘Sleepaway Camp’ since I was thirteen, and suddenly she’s right there asking if I want to go back to her place.”  
  
I almost choked on my coffee. “Holy shit, really?”  
  
Deron grinned proudly, one hand on the wheel and turned slightly towards me as he related the story.  
  
“Really. Felissa fucking Rose. Coming onto me like I was Brad Pitt or something. It was fucking unreal.”  
  
“You went back with her, right?”  
  
His expression shifted a little. “Not this time.”  
  
My jaw dropped further. “You had the chance to sleep with Felissa Rose and you didn’t take it? What’s _wrong_ with you, Deron?”  
  
He laughed at my reaction, turning back to fully face the road. “It just…I dunno. Wasn’t the right time or something.”  
  
I shook my head in disbelief. “Man, even I would have been all over her like a rash. I don’t get you sometimes.”  
  
I felt his eyes on me but they flickered back to the road as I turned to face him.  
  
“I mean…now that I’ve met Kelly and everything, it’s not like we’d…”  
  
“Oh, I know,” he interrupted, still focused on driving although we were on the freeway so there wasn’t much to focus on. “It wasn’t that.”  
  
A few seconds later he said, “Maybe I’ll call her tonight. I got her number.”  
  
I nodded, sipping my coffee thoughtfully. “Yeah. You should do that.”  
  
Looking back now I should have given more importance to the pauses, and all of the things that he didn’t say that day. But it might just be too late now.  
  
⋄✧⋄  
  
“Man, look at all the people out there! They look so fuckin’ psyched already!”  
  
I turn to Deron with an enthusiastic grin but receive only a half-smile with minimal eye contact in return. I frown and nudge him in the arm.  
  
“Come on, Der. It’s our first show for a year! You’re excited, right?”  
  
“Of course,” he agrees, but honestly he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to me. I grab him and drag him further away from the stage before he can protest.  
  
“Talk,” I demand bluntly. He frowns and jerks his arm out of my grip.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You’ve been acting weird for as long as I can remember, probably since we finished mastering the Foreign Objects re-release. So what the fuck is up already?”  
  
“Nothing’s up. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
His jaw is set in defiance as he levels his gaze right at me. Normally I’d leave him alone but fuck, a year is a long fucking time for your best friend to be barely talking to you. And if it carries on, the future of CKY could be at stake. So I’m persistent.  
  
“I’m not imagining it, Deron. You’re distant and you barely look or talk to me anymore. Plus you live on the other side of the country. What did I do?”  
  
“You didn’t _do_ anything. Not everything is about you, Jess.”  
  
The way he’s acting like I’m being a self-centred brat gets my back up and I find myself grabbing his arm again as I growl.  
  
“Yeah fucking right. I’m not stupid. You’re fine with Chad but when was the last time we had a proper conversation, like we used to?”  
  
My voice softens towards the end as I recall the better days of our friendship, and the sentiment is reflected in Deron’s expression briefly before it clouds over again. But I seem to have hit a nerve inside him because he stops denying it and instead mutters under his breath;  
  
“You of all people should know better than to ask me questions like that.”  
  
I let my hold on his arm slacken until it’s reassuring rather than threatening, squeezing slightly.  
  
“I could tell something was wrong, Deron. And I know you bottle stuff up, but since when can you not talk to me?”  
  
“You should know,” he replies before catching himself and thinking the better of it. Deron always thinks before he speaks. Since I first met him he’s spent most of his time hidden behind an image of confidence, even with close friends. So when he starts to slip up like that, I know that something’s really wrong.  
  
I’m processing my thoughts when one of his guitar-calloused hands finds my cheek. I lean into the familiar touch and close my eyes as he moves towards me. The touch of his lips against mine still makes me tingle like nothing else does and I have to bite back a moan. My arms slip around his neck and I willingly lose myself in the feel of his tongue moving into my mouth.  
  
Before I know what’s happening I’m backed up against the wall, hoping to God that none of the kids in the front row can see this far around the side of the stage as Deron pushes his body flush against mine, kissing me with a hunger that reflects the long years that it’s been since the last time we did this. We’ve both moved on but I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t missed this sometimes. As Deron’s hand slips into my back pocket and his tongue licks a path up my neck I remember just how fucking amazing he always was in bed and feel a hard-on starting to grow in my jeans.  
  
Eventually he pulls away, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. I smile to myself and inhale the smell of his hair, stroking his back softly.  
  
“It’s been a while since we did that.”  
  
“Yeah. It has.”  
  
His voice is half-formed and cut through with raw emotion that even I can’t miss. Suddenly he steps away, stumbling slightly in a rush to move as far away from me as he can. I shiver as the warmth of his body is lost, feeling even more confused than I had before.  
  
“Deron, what…”  
  
“Let’s just play this show,” he snaps, looking around frantically for his guitar. A slight cough alerts us to Chad’s presence twenty feet away, holding out one of Deron’s Parker’s. None of us are embarrassed because hell, it’s not like Chad didn’t know about us, what with the lack of soundproofing on tour busses. Deron’s gratitude and relief is obvious though as he grabs the guitar and slings it over his body. I have no time to think before we’re being rushed out onto the stage in front of a crowd of screaming fans and the lights are blinding me.  
  
⋄✧⋄  
  
After the show I try my best to grab Deron again but his skill at avoiding me proves too great and he rushes off with some garbled excuse before I can open my mouth to stop him. As his tail lights move off into the darkness I feel Chad move to stand next to me. I shake my head slowly, turning to him.  
  
“I don’t get it. I seriously don’t get it.”  
  
He exhales smoke and words simultaneously.  
  
“Even a fucking idiot could see it, Jess.”  
  
“Well I don’t. And I wish he would just fucking tell me because this band is going to shit.”  
  
Chad’s frustration finally bursts free as his voice raises in pitch and volume.  
  
“He’s fucking in love with you! How the fuck could you not have known that?”  
  
I gasp, then blink, then gape at Chad some more. He rolls his eyes and tosses his cigarette butt to the ground.  
  
“Of course the fucking band’s going to shit. The whole thing is fucked up.”  
  
He walks away before I can even formulate a sentence, and my mind is reeling. My first instinct of course is to chase after Deron, like at the end of every Goddamn cheesy romance movie ever made. I could jump in my car and follow him, grab him and kiss him again and promise him that we could be happy together. But I’m frozen to the spot, disbelieving. And more than that, I know that if I followed him it would be a lie.  
  
I have no idea what to do, standing in a San Diego parking lot and letting the August air and darkness wash over me. What I do know is that this band will definitely never be the same. And once again, I guess I have no choice but to sit back and watch my life slowly self-destruct around me.


End file.
